


you should stop me there but i keep on talking

by wintyfreshh



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Exhibitionism, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, i cannot be held responsible for my actions, it's just weed but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintyfreshh/pseuds/wintyfreshh
Summary: “You don’thaveto go, Jon.” Another line of kisses that Jon watches with rapt attention. “In fact, Martin was just saying the mostinterestingthings about you.”Martin’s face blazes with humiliation. He almost protests, this isJon, oh my g-d, he’s never going to be able to look him in the face again, but… well. Tim has never led him astray before. (And if Tim is leading him to Jon, of course Martin will follow.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 33
Kudos: 448





	you should stop me there but i keep on talking

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this has been sitting in my drafts for months and i finally got around to editing it. it was supposed to be short but sometimes you trip and spill all your headcanons and then youve accidentally written eight pages. takes place very early s1, as usual in a universe where nothing bad ever happens to them. jon's asexuality isnt explicitly mentioned but he doesnt participate in the actual sex. martin is trans and i use cunt, clit, etc. title from warm blood by carly rae jepsen. (7/28 general style edits)

After two beers and a little weed, Martin feels excellent, something golden and fuzzy settling in his chest. 

It had been a trying week at the Institute, so when Tim invited him over for a drink, eyes bright with affection, Martin had accepted immediately. Hooking up with Tim, while a relatively new development in their friendship, had become his preferred stress reliever. 

Tim’s cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol, and Martin finds himself distracted by the long column of his throat as he tips his head back, exhales a stream of smoke. He smiles back at Martin coyly and hands over the bowl. 

Martin relaxes back into the soft plush of the couch, closing his eyes as he takes a long hit, relishing in the stretch of his lungs. When he opens them again Tim is giving him a look that makes Martin suspicious.

“Hot or Not, Institute edition.” Tim waggles his eyebrows a little.

Martin groans. _Hot or Not_ was Tim’s go-to game for any occasion involving drinks; Martin usually played conscientious objector but stuck around to listen to his coworkers play. Just in case. 

(It was a raucous affair, almost guaranteed to dissolve into shouting and insults as the group debated candidates with academic fervor. Martin had been bullied into playing on a few occasions, blushing his way through furiously. They had even gotten Jon to play once.) 

“Are we twelve year olds at a sleepover?” He gives his usual half-hearted protest, but Tim’s impish grin says he’s intent on mischief, so Martin rolls his eyes but leans in with a shy smile. “Okay. You first though.”

“You want me to ask first? Or you wanna ask me?” Tim raises his eyebrows and moves a hand to Martin’s thigh, begins to rub slow circles with his thumb. 

Just the two of them is... definitely more intimate than playing with the whole group, Martin realizes belatedly.

“Uh, I’ll ask you,” Martin decides. He takes another hit, mostly to stall, before passing the bowl back to Tim, who awaits his question with that mischievous grin still on his face.

Martin lets out the puff of smoke and nods decisively. “Um, okay. Sasha. Hot or not?”

“Hot,” Tim declares, and begins to count his supporting arguments off on his fingers. “Curly hair. Wears those cool boots. Sometimes she yells at me for slacking off.” He puts the bowl back on the coffee table in favor of a beer, takes a swig before continuing. “Would be an honour and a privilege to eat her out.” 

Martin certainly wouldn’t disagree, but the warm presence of Tim’s hand returning to his thigh is distracting, to say the least. Embarrassingly, he can feel himself starting to get wet, and it takes him a moment to realize that Tim had asked him a question.

“Oh, what? Sorry.” He asks sheepishly.

Tim laughs. “It’s your turn. Uh, Elias. Hot or not?”

“Ugh,” Martin grimaces. “I wanna say not, but, I mean. I’ve thought about it? He’s sleazy but, you know. Definitely has a big dick. Sometimes I think about, like, blowing him from under that stupid desk.” His face grows hot. He hadn’t meant to admit that last part. Maybe he’s a little higher than he thought. Tim grins, though, equal parts lecherous and gleeful.

“Interesting,” he purrs, visibly filing the information away for later. “Okay, next... Jon?”

“Hot,” Martin replies, a little too quickly, before realizing Tim has gone twice in a row. 

“Wow, who would’ve guessed?” Tim teases. His hand slides further up Martin’s thigh. “And what is it about our dear archivist that has you swooning?” 

A spark of arousal curls in Martin’s gut, and he takes a slightly shaky breath before answering. The way Tim teases often tests the limits of his shyness, but he’s found that if he lets himself be led, the reward is always worth it. 

“Um. His voice? It’s… good.” 

Tim laughs, not unkindly. “Good, is it? You like listening to him?” A pause. “You like when he tells you what to do?” The air between them feels charged. Martin squirms slightly.

“Um. Yes,” he answers breathily. “And his eyes. The way he looks at me -” An imperceptible shiver skitters up his spine at the thought of Jon’s calculating stare. He is, of course, mortified at what he’s admitting, but Tim would never mock or make light of Martin’s crush on Jon, he knows that. 

Tim shifts closer, his grinning lips inches from Martin’s now. “Hmm. Okay, next. What about little old me? Hot or not?” His voice is low.

It takes an unprecedented amount of restraint for Martin not to throw himself at Tim. He pulls in another deep breath. 

“No, you already went, it’s my turn, Tim.” He tilts his head in an exaggerated show of thoughtfulness, giving Tim a playful look. “Who else? Oh, I know - me. Hot or not?”

Tim presses their lips together in response, kissing him hard before nipping at his bottom lip. “Very hot,” he answers roughly, and pulls Martin into his lap. 

Martin moans softly as Tim kisses him again. His hands find Tim’s shoulders as he deepens the kiss, and the hot slide of Tim’s tongue against his makes him feel needy and restless. 

Tim groans when Martin grinds his hips down. He pulls back to yank at Tim’s t-shirt.

“Off,” he breathes, but the offending garment is on the floor before the word has left his mouth. Tim moves to work Martin’s jeans open as Martin presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the newly exposed skin. He moans when Tim snakes his hand into his pants, rubs at Martin’s clit through his boxers. 

A curt knock at the door startles them apart. 

Tim breathes heavily as he leans his forehead against Martin’s, willing whoever is at his door to fuck off. He sighs as the knock comes again, and reluctantly slides out from beneath Martin, giving him a quick kiss as he goes. Martin drags a hand through his disheveled curls, trying to regain a modicum of control over himself. 

Tim grumbles about how _it had better be an emergency_ and peers through the peephole. Martin looks up at his disbelieving chuckle. Before he has time to ask, Tim swings the door open.

Martin can feel his mouth gape as Jon, characteristically oblivious, brushes past Tim, his head buried in an open file.

“I’ve been doing some follow-up on that statement from this morning,” he begins, without looking up from his papers. Martin feels something akin to dawning horror when Tim grins at him and shrugs, as if to say _Why not?_ (Martin can think of many, _many_ reasons why not.)

Jon has not yet stopped talking, but his words are lost in the haze of Martin’s confusion and lingering arousal. The idea of Jon, here, in Tim’s flat, is so insane that he thinks his neurons must be shorting out.

Tim, ever adaptable, pushes the door shut and comes to perch on the arm of the couch nearest to Martin. He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Is there any reason this couldn’t have waited til Monday, Jon?”

As if he’s just realized there are other people present, Jon looks up, startled. Any response dies on his lips as he finally notices Martin on the couch, jeans undone and lips red and bitten.

Jon’s brown eyes flicker around the rest of the room, gathering data - Tim’s naked torso, the empty beers, the weed - before landing back on Martin. 

“Oh. I…” 

Martin resists the urge to squirm as Jon scans him up and down, painfully slowly. Jon clears his throat. “Sorry, you’re clearly… Uh. I’ll go.” He makes no move to leave, though, his gaze still fixed on Martin. 

Martin is frozen, a deer in Jon’s headlights, so it’s Tim who breaks the tension. He retakes his seat on the couch and languidly slides his arms around Martin’s waist, resting his chin on Martin’s shoulder. 

Jon finally tears his eyes from Martin’s at Tim’s thoughtful hum. He presses a series of slow kisses along the side of Martin’s neck before speaking, voice pitched low in a way that Martin knows is meant for him, even as Tim’s words are directed at Jon.

“You don’t _have_ to go, Jon.” Another line of kisses that Jon watches with rapt attention. “In fact, Martin was just saying the most _interesting_ things about you.” 

Martin’s face blazes with humiliation. He almost protests, this is _Jon_ , oh my g-d, he’s never going to be able to look him in the face again, but… well. Tim has never led him astray before. (And if Tim is leading him to Jon, of course Martin will follow.)

Jon frowns slightly, gaze bouncing between Martin’s shamed expression and his throat, where Tim has busied himself sucking a bruise.

“You… were talking about me.”

“Mhmm,” Tim hums unconcernedly. He returns his chin to Martin’s shoulder. “I think Martin would like it if you stayed.” Martin feels dizzy, mortified (and so, _so_ wet) but unable to speak. It hangs in the air for another moment before Tim delivers the killing blow.

“You should have seen how pretty he blushed when he told me how he gets off thinking about you - watching, telling him what to do.”

Martin can’t contain his petrified whine. He covers his face with his hands and curls in towards Tim, as if to shield himself from the intensity of the moment. He might actually, literally die of embarrassment. Tim chuckles and plants a quick kiss on his cheek, well aware of Martin’s limits. 

Jon is silent for so long that Martin risks a peek through his fingers, desperate to know what he’s thinking. He half expects Jon to have fled the apartment, out of disgust or loathing or awkwardness, but he’s… still there. 

Jon lets out a long, shuddering breath before fixing Martin with an inscrutable look. “Martin… is that - is that true?”

Martin’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it might give out. He’s been pining for Jon for ages now. Jon, who only gives him the time of day when he needs to berate him for a filing mistake. Was he supposed to admit, _to his face_ , that he thinks about him when he jerks off? Apparently yes, if Tim had anything to say about it. 

“Well?” he prompts, rubbing Martin’s arms soothingly. 

Martin feels like prey under Jon’s electric gaze. “Yes,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He can hear the smile in Tim’s voice. “Now, _I_ think Jon should give us some direction, don’t you Martin? Use that voice of his that gets you all wet?” 

Martin lets out another pathetic whine, eyes still locked on Jon’s. They’re studious, meticulously scanning Martin’s face for any sign of distress or discomfort. Martin’s heart twinges with something that feels too tender for… whatever this is.

“You want me to…?” The question hangs like lead in the air.

Then Martin nods, almost imperceptibly, and Jon’s demeanor shifts at the assent. No longer uncertain, more like the domineering archivist he is at the Institute. He considers for a moment, taking stock of the room, then sinks into the armchair nearest him. Not quite close enough to touch, but his view of Martin is unobstructed. 

His voice is low when he speaks. “What were you doing before I interrupted?”

“I was thinking of eating Martin out,” Tim answers gleefully. 

“I... think that should do. Martin, clothes off.”

Martin feels heat pool in his stomach at the order. Jon is using that _voice_ on him, like someone is pulling the scene straight from one of Martin’s fantasies, holy shit, holy shit. He’s half convinced this might actually be a dream. He may as well enjoy it.

Before he can lose his nerve he quickly lifts his hips, and Tim helps slide his jeans and boxers off. Martin yanks his oversized t-shirt over his head, tossing it to join Tim’s somewhere on the floor. He drags in a strangled breath and tugs nervously at his hair, a soft thrill running through him as Jon catches his eye, gives him a gentle, reassuring look. 

Tim slides off the couch to kneel between Martin’s legs. He drops a quick kiss on his knee as Martin waits for Jon’s next direction. 

“Spread your legs, Martin, so I can see.” 

Martin’s head falls back against the couch, overwhelmed with want, as he obeys. He’s always found it easy to do as he’s told, makes him feel sharper, purposeful - it’s even easier when those orders are coming from Jon. 

Tim wastes no time diving in, licks a long stripe up Martin’s cunt before sucking at his clit. Martin’s hands claw uselessly at the couch as Tim begins to eat him out in earnest, tongue slipping into his folds. It's noisy and wet and obscene, and he tries to buck up but Tim holds his hips firmly to the couch. The heat of his mouth is almost too much to bear, and Martin whines pleadingly.

“Martin, look at me.” The arch of Jon’s voice sends a wild feeling through Martin, and he winds his fingers through Tim’s hair to ground himself before lifting his eyes. 

Jon’s stare is searing, though his posture suggests a clinical detachment, like he’s simply taking a statement or doing research. The feigned indifference makes Martin feel white-hot and exposed. 

Tim gives a hard suck to Martin’s clit, stealing his attention back from Jon. His pupils are blown wide with lust and adoration, and Martin’s heart thumps as he whines and writhes. 

Tim’s chin is soaked in Martin’s arousal as he pulls back just enough to slide two fingers into his cunt. A shrill sound escapes Martin’s lips, and Tim plants another chaste kiss to the inside of his thigh before diving back in. 

He can feel his orgasm barreling towards him under the combination of Tim’s perfect fingers and Jon’s calculating gaze. He can’t decide who to keep his eyes on, flicking rapidly between the two men. Then Tim crooks his fingers _just so_ and Martin comes with a sob, his thighs tensing around Tim’s head.

Tim fingers him gently through the aftershocks, resting his cheek on Martin’s soft thigh as his muscles twitch. Martin finally releases his grip on Tim’s hair, allowing him to turn back and look at Jon. 

“What’s next, boss?” he asks, sounding entirely too much like the cat that got the cream. 

Jon, for his part, seems unaffected, apart from the white-knuckle grip he has on the arms of the chair. His eyes catalogue Martin’s state, from the slick on his thighs to his glassy stare and back down to where Tim is still pressing his fingers into Martin’s cunt. 

Surprising himself, Martin speaks up. “I want…” He falters. It’s silly, feeling this shy after he literally just came all over Tim’s face, but he’s never been good at asking for what he wants. 

Tim turns back to him, waiting with an encouraging smile on his face. Martin tugs at his own curls, damp with sweat now, before trying again. “I want to suck your dick.” The words spill out quickly. “Please,” he adds, after a moment.

Tim groans at the thought. He finally slides his fingers out of Martin and begins to lick them clean as he looks back at Jon. “What do you think, Jon? Do you wanna see Martin suck my cock?” 

(Jon may be giving the orders but Tim is definitely the one in charge here.)

Jon makes a choked off sound that seems affirmative, so Tim rises languidly to his feet, stopping to give Martin a searing kiss before settling back onto the couch. Martin blushes a little at the taste of himself on Tim’s tongue. 

Jon seems to regain himself, or at least remembers that he’s supposed to be giving directions. “On your knees, Martin.” His voice is hoarse.

Martin pushes himself from the couch hurriedly, his limbs trembling with the effort. Tim cards a gentle hand through his hair as he settles between his thighs, and the warmth in his eyes makes Martin fall maybe a little bit in love. 

He ducks down to mouth at the bulge in Tim’s jeans and waits obediently for him to pull out his cock. Martin had never really been one for giving head until he started sleeping with Tim, who always cradled his face with a care that made Martin desperate to get his mouth on him. 

Tim frees himself from the confines of his trousers and gives his cock a slow stroke. Martin darts his tongue out to lap at it softly before pulling it into his mouth. Tim lets out a satisfied groan. Martin sucks at the head gently before pushing forward, taking Tim halfway and bringing his hand up to stroke at what he can’t manage. 

He bobs his head up and down in a practiced motion, and the unhurried pace he sets has Tim gasping. He puts gentle hands on either side of Martin’s jaw.

“Mm, fuck Martin. Your mouth, christ.” 

Martin hums in agreement, mostly to hear Tim moan at the vibration. He pulls back enough to lave his tongue across the head then pushes back down, a little further than before. A hint of teeth on the underside of Tim's cock gets a particularly loud gasp.

“F-fuck.” Tim slides a hand into Martin’s curls and pulls him off with a wet pop, keeping a firm grip on his hair as he pants. A thin stream of saliva hangs from Martin’s spit-slick lips. He can only imagine how wrecked he must look, although the heat in Tim’s eyes gives him some idea. 

“Don’t wanna come yet. Wanna fuck you Martin, g-d, you’re so good for me.” 

Martin whines at the praise, a needy sound from high in this throat. A little breathless, he leans his cheek against the wiry muscle of Tim’s thigh and looks over to Jon for direction, a unconscious mirroring of what Tim had done earlier.

Jon’s pupils are blown wide and a flush sits high on his cheeks. He’s bolt upright in the armchair, still gripping at the chair with white knuckles. A wave of arousal floods through Martin at Jon’s intensity, so strong his knees would’ve buckled were he not already on the ground.

“Please, Jon,” he whimpers, voice honey-sweet.

Jon clears his throat. His eyes dart between Martin on his knees and Tim’s cock, red and weeping. Finally, he speaks. “Tim, why don’t you let Martin ride you. I think he’s earned it.” 

Martin trembles as Tim helps him clamber to his feet. Tim gives him a smile, thick with want, then kisses him soundly. “All good?” He whispers, too quietly for Jon to hear. Martin nods, a little frantically, but he’s too turned on to be embarrassed. 

“I want you to sit in Tim’s lap and face me,” Jon continues, a little strained. “So I can see him fuck you open.”

Martin _is_ embarrassed by how loud he moans at that. He shoves at Tim’s chest, urging him down onto the couch. Grinning at Martin's desperation, Tim helps him maneuver onto his lap, hooking Martin’s legs over his own so Jon has full access to the sight of his cunt, slick and pink. 

Martin leans back heavily against Tim, who slides a protective arm across his soft belly in response. Jon raises an eyebrow, as if to say _Go on_.

Tim teases at Martin’s entrance, sliding his cock through his folds. At Martin’s impatient whine he laughs but begins to push in. 

A low moan escapes Martin’s throat at the feeling of Tim’s length, hot and perfect inside him. He’s not gonna last long, not with Jon’s eyes on him and _oh fuck_ Tim’s fingers on his clit.

Tim grinds his cock into Martin’s heat as he bottoms out. “Ready?” he asks, breathing heavily already. 

“Yeah, yes. Please.” Martin whispers. He lets his head loll back against Tim’s shoulder, meets Jon’s smoldering gaze. Tim begins to roll his hips steadily, fucking into Martin deep and fast and so fucking good. His fingers on Martin’s clit send sparks of electricity bouncing up his spine.

Martin pants and writhes, fucks down on Tim’s cock and whines _Tim_ and _Jon_ and _fuck._ His body feels like a live wire. Jon is leaning forward, elbows on his knees by this point. His face is a little flushed, and the undisguised _want_ in his eyes is pushing Martin closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tim bites out, moaning into Martin’s shoulder. He rubs practiced circles on Martin’s clit and snaps his hips faster. 

“Tim, Tim --,” Martin gasps. His eyes fall shut as Tim hits that perfect spot inside him, filling him with white-hot pleasure. Tim, ever the observant lover, angles himself to hit that spot every time, leaving Martin writhing and keening.

It’s a struggle to concentrate on any part of his body except his cunt right now, but Martin forces his eyes open, wants to see Jon wanting him. 

“ _Please,_ ” he begs, not even exactly sure for what. 

Jon takes pity on him. “What do you need?” He asks softly. 

Martin tries to answer but Tim is literally fucking the words out of him. “Kiss,” he finally chokes out, hoping that will be enough. 

Then Jon is there, cradling Martin’s jaw with a firm hand. Fireworks explode under Martin’s skin as Jon bends down and presses their lips together in a searing kiss. 

He pulls back far too quickly, but keeps his firm hold on Martin’s jaw, a devious look in his eyes that Martin is too far gone to notice.

Jon’s voice is low and honeyed. “Are you gonna be good and come for us?”

“ _Fuck_ -” is all Martin has time to get out before he reaches his peak, moaning brokenly and bucking his hips as much as he can, held there between Tim and Jon. Tim gives him a few more good thrusts before tumbling after him, spilling into Martin with a low groan.

Tim gently slides out of Martin after they catch their breath. He helps Martin ease off his lap and onto the couch next to him. Martin leans heavily against his side, feeling warm and fuzzy as Tim cards soft fingers through his hair. He looks up at Jon, who’s still stood in front of them, now a little stiff and awkward. 

Martin simply reaches out to link his hand with one of Jon’s, then tugs him down to the couch to sit next to him. It seems to solve the problem, because Jon relaxes again. 

Tim is the first to speak. “Mm, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that to happen.” 

Jon gives an undignified snort. “You’ve been waiting for this exact scenario to happen?” He’s still holding Martin’s hand, brings it up to press a kiss to Martin’s knuckles almost absentmindedly. 

“You’d be surprised at how many weirdly specific fantasies he has,” Martin grins up at him lazily. Tim flicks his ear in retaliation.

“Oh, hush. I meant getting the two of you in my bed. Well, couch.” He gives them a shit-eating grin. “The first step was supposed to be getting you two together, but I won’t complain.”

“What do you mean, _get us together_?” Martin starts indignantly.

“You’ve been saying that for months,” Jon says at the same time.

Martin whips his head around to look back at Jon. “You’ve - _months_?” He splutters, but Jon seems to get the gist. He gives Martin a sheepish look.

“Ah. I - yes. I told Tim how I… feel about you months ago.” 

“Oh. How you… feel?” Martin feels like his brain is short-circuiting again. Jon silently presses another kiss to Martin’s knuckles as if that answers the question. 

“Wait, you told Tim -” Martin realizes. He turns to Tim and smacks him on the chest. “You’ve known that he’s… for _months?_ Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Tim laughs, fending off another blow from Martin. “I had a plan! It’s not my fault you two are the most oblivious people in London. ‘Sides, it worked out didn’t it?”

Martin slumps back against the coach with a groan. His mind is reeling - Jon is interested in him? How did he not notice? How did --

Jon squeezes his hand gently to get Martin’s attention. When he meets his eyes he cups Martin’s jaw gently, then darts in to give him a quick kiss. Martin can almost feel the glowing neon hearts hanging above his head.

Jon pulls back slightly, giving Martin a fond smile. “I think we can probably get together on our own, don’t you?”

Tim laughs as Martin surges up to give Jon another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> more self indulgent content is in the works. im on [tumblr](https://chiquita-david.tumblr.com), come say hi :) also pls let me know if I missed any tags! I tried to get everything but if there's something that i forgot let me know!


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